By all the gods, he wished Dragon was awake. The beast would know what to do. Ladon didn’t.
Maybe if he got her talking, it would help. Pick something small in all this and force her to recalibrate her attention. Distractions worked on Sister and almost every other woman he’d been with. “You were in love with me the first moment you saw me?”
She sniffled. “Yes.”
“I knew it.”
She sat up. ‘Indignation’ cut through the ‘fear.’ “I’m babbling and that’s what you’re thinking about?”
He mustered his own indignation and poked his chest. “I’m always right.”
Her mouth dropped open but she didn’t respond. He’d left her speechless.
And he’d pulled her out of her downward cycle. “I’m not that boy. I will never hurt you. Dragon and I, we love you.” His nostrils flared. Why was it so hard for women to understand the truth?
“There’s more to a relationship than love.” Tears streaked the back of her hand when she wiped her eyes. “And I’m…” More sniffling. “I’m…”
“What, Rysa?” But he knew. “Hard to live with? And I’m not?” He thumped his chest again. “I’ve had two millennia of women telling me my flaws and yes, there are patterns. I try. I do. So does the beast. But he’s my Dragon and I’m his Human and we can’t help but be irritating.”
She giggled, but she tried to hold it in and it came out a wet snort she wiped in the sleeve of the shirt she wore. His shirt. “Oh my God, I’m disgusting!”
“I love you anyway. I’ll love you even if you pick your nose. I swear.” He flashed his best smile while he crossed his heart.
She sat on the bed next to him, lip quivering, and eyes wide. They both breathed several inhales, Ladon syncing to her, to show he spoke the truth.
He wanted to touch and feel the tension of her skin under his fingers, to better help him calibrate his responses. But modern women were careful about touching, as if it signified that they’d given away part of their soul. Or their power. So he kept his hands back.
But he caught a whiff of her calling scents—‘contemplation’ combined with more ‘longing.’
He couldn’t sit like this, with his hands on his lap. He had to do something. He stroked her forearm.
Her gaze dropped to his fingers, but she didn’t shrink back. “When we first met,” she said, blinking slowly, a small smile appearing on her swollen but lovely mouth, “you put your hand on my shoulder and your fingers moved in this wonderful, soulful way.” She reached across her body and stroked his wrist just beyond where he touched her. “It triggered my present-seer. It was one of the very first times I realized I knew things.”
He triggered one of her first visions? He’d figured it would have been Dragon.
“You learn with your hands. I swear it’s like you hear with your fingers.” Her lips curved the tiniest amount as her fingers moved to the back of his hand.
He’d never thought about it. He stared at his own fingertips as they gently moved across her arm—his darker, rougher skin, his slight dragon glow, though she had a light all her own. Rysa, his healthy, beautiful love, shone for him as the beacon by which he centered his world.
The muscles of her forearm loosened and she rotated her arm, presenting her vulnerable wrist. She offered her hand.
He took it, each of his fingers touching each of hers. His digits glided by their feminine mirrors—his index finger by her smaller, more tapered finger. His ring finger curled around hers, a physical, perfect touch to tell her this is what I want. And their thumbs stroked each other, making love on their own.
Her breathing regulated, slowing and adjusting to his. All her doubts, all her imagined pain, faded from her body under the touch of his hand.
She watched their entwined fingers and her face softened. “We… have a lot to learn about each other, don’t we?”
This modern need to learn about each other before combining their lives confounded him. He loved her. Dragon loved her. Moving forward together wasn’t something to be negotiated between them, it was something they negotiated between them and the world.
“Yes,” he said, his voice clear and full of his intent—them, together. “But that’s normal.”
She flexed her fingers, stretching her knuckles not to pull away from him, but to touch more of his hand. “How long do you think it will take? To learn about each other?”
Kissing her would take care of this. He’d press his lips against hers and she’d forget about her questions. She’d feel his intent and she’d understand. And he’d lay her down on the blankets and end all these stuttered doubts once and for all.
She watched his eyes, her own brow wrinkling into a sardonic curve. “I think normal means something different to you than it does to me.”
There it was, this gulf between him and the modern world, as clearly visible on her face as the setting sun was on the horizon outside.
She blinked and her head tipped to the side. “You honestly want to try?”
Why women repeated questions, he never did understand. But words needed to be reinforced with action. Or action with words. He’d at least learned that from his previous relationships. “We will figure out what normal means for us.”
Ladon slowly, gently kissed the bridge of her nose.
When she sighed, she bit her lip, and looked up at him, her beautiful eyes wide and open and searching. “You realize that you’ve ruined me by being so spectacular, don’t you? I’m not going to be able to get anything done now—no school, no learning how to use my abilities, nothing—because you’ve completely distracted me.” She nibbled on his chin.
He chuckled, and kissed her top lip. “Oh?”
The tension in her shoulders released. “You’re going to distract me for at least a couple of decades. Keep me occupied.”
They’d be okay. He knew it now, watching her face light up as she joked. But for him, this wasn’t a joke.
“I was hoping for at least a few centuries,” he whispered as he kissed her lower lip.
She sucked in her breath. He smiled, watching her eyes in return. She realized the truth of his words—he saw her understanding reflected in her face.
And he smelled it on her breath. ‘Acceptance’ curled into his mind, warm and perfect and full of all her hopes for the future.
Rysa threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “How about five?”
“That’s a good start,” he said.
She cuddled close again, her face in the crook of his neck. “But you need to shave. Your stubble’s painful.”
Not rubbing his chin in her hair took more effort than it should. “I thought you liked my stubble.”
A shrug bobbed her head against his neck. “I do.”
She dropped against his chest again. “You really do want to get married, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Right now, if she’d let him. They’d do it the old way, once Dragon awoke, in the center of the circle. The cabins faced the cardinal directions. They could park the SUV in the drive to fill in the gap. Andreas would officiate.
Sister and Sister-Dragon might huff, but he’d tell them to stay in their cabin.
The Seraphim would then face his wife, when they went for Derek. They’d learn no one touches his and Sister’s mates.
“Even though you’ve known me less than a week?”
“You offered five centuries,” he said, squaring his chest to her. “I want a ring to prove it.” He held up his hand and pointed at his ring finger.
Rysa laughed. “So you want me to make a decent man of you, huh?”
He shrugged. “Someone needs to. Dragon and I are hopeless on our own.”
She smiled and the ‘surprise’ gave way to what he’d longed for—‘love you.’
“I just need to make sure I’m doing this right,” she said.
He stroked her back but didn’t say anything more. She didn’t need words now. She needed his touch and his acceptance.
She r
ubbed her eyes again. “I’m thirsty. Do you think the water is okay? If I call my seers, will I see?” Then frowned. “How do I ask that?”
The original Draki Prime never had issues with simple questions about their environment. Was this a manifestation of her attention issues? But that didn’t seem right. Something else caused this odd block.
Maybe Andreas would know.
“I’ll get a jug of water from the van.” But he’d have to move, and let her go.
“I’m okay now.” A gentle kiss touched his cheek. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”
Leaning against him, she felt fragile. This wonderful woman with her strong body and quick mind felt as if she’d break.
“Rest, love.” Ladon pulled a pillow down to her head. “Andreas said you need sleep.” They needed her seers, but if she couldn’t function, calling them would cause her harm.
No more harm would come to his woman.
She nodded, rolling on her side and pulling the pillow close. “Okay.”
Ladon crawled off the bed. The breeze from the door carried hints of road dust and vehicle exhaust. Andreas must be returning.
He stood in the door, looking back at his love. She sighed, watching him, and wiped at her face again with the back of her hand.
Ladon stepped into the night, determined to bring back water for the true core of his soul.
He dug around in the back of his van. Cleaning it when he threw away all his vodka hadn’t been a good idea. He couldn’t find anything.
He sat up. Maybe a bottle right now wouldn’t be such a bad thing, either.
No. He wouldn’t chance losing Rysa because of old habits.
The bins were liquid-free. Of course Dragon would know where the water bottles were, but he’d be asleep for another twenty-four hours, and Rysa needed a drink right now.
Ladon sat up again, kneeling in his brother-in-law’s dirty jeans, still without a shirt and still bloody, wishing Derek was here. Because of all the men he knew, Derek was probably the only one who’d know how to navigate this situation.
Ladon couldn’t shake the feeling that if Rysa ran away, he’d never see her again. If she left his sight for only a fraction of a second, he’d lose her forever.
That’s why he’d left open the cabin door. Why he angled himself so he could see her where she’d curled herself into a ball on the bed, still as dirty as he was, and still wearing his shirt.
And her talisman. And the insignia around her wrist. He’d set her down and she’d not let go until she asked for some water and now she lay sideways on the mattress, Dragon’s sleeping bulk behind her, her hand cupping her wrist as if the insignia was the only thing holding her to this plane of existence.
Ladon dug in the bin again. He remembered buying duct tape, coffee, and two jugs of water at the second little store they’d stopped at in Wisconsin Dells a week ago, right before finding Rysa. Both jugs had a silly dancing water drop on their labels, as if water could be happy.
He leaned forward and pushed his arm as far into the back of the bin as he could.
His fingers hit something smooth and hard.
The bottle clinked when he pulled it out, the glass glinting in the light pouring through the cabin door. The Cyrillic on the label looked faded, like it’d been rolling around under his floorboards for quite some time.
Ladon stared at the vodka in his hand. He’d found an unopened bottle, one from the batch he’d picked up in Branson a couple months ago.
The batch with the smooth finish, unlike the case he’d dumped a couple days ago.
He dropped the bottle back into the bin. Water was his goal, not vodka. Digging around again, he felt along the back wall of the bin for plastic this time, not glass.
“Ah!” His fingers snagged a handle and he pulled up a gallon jug of blissfully purified drinking water. Rysa wouldn’t die of dehydration.
He jumped out the back of the van, leaving the vodka where it was. Best not to think about it right now.
He glanced into the cabin, and at the lovely young woman on his bed. Andreas should return shortly with food. Maybe eating would cheer her up.
He closed the door and the van rocked—but more than it should have from a simple door slam.
Brother-Human.
Ladon pulled the jug up toward his face, keeping it between him and the invisible Sister-Dragon. “Why the hell are you sneaking around?”
The other beast dropped her head down from her perch on top of his van. She mimicked the darkening sky, her hide punctuated by the same field of stars flickering above.
He thrust the jug at her snout. “Why are you running silent? It’s rude.”
Sister-Dragon snorted as she took the jug from his hand. Your Fate is thirsty? she pushed.
“You will stop referring to her as ‘my Fate,’ do you understand? No more,” he growled, keeping his voice low so Rysa didn’t hear.
From outside, it looked like Rysa might be asleep.
Your wounds are healed? Sister-Dragon handed him the jug. We must go. Derek needs us.
“After your brother wakes and we work with Rysa to make a plan. I won’t get Derek killed.”
Your Fate should have told us how to stop the Seraphim from taking him in the first place, Brother-Human. Indignation spread from her mind like an ink stain.
“Go back to your cabin!” Ladon smacked the other dragon on the nose. “Huff and complain with the human who shares your shitty attitude.”
Flame curled from Sister-Dragon and Ladon sidestepped out of the way. She still managed to get his forearm. His hairs bristled and he rubbed at his singed skin. “So you’re flaming me now? Fuck off.”
He smacked her snout again.
She reared up, and towered over him from her place on top of his van. A new snort accompanied another flame, this one blasting high into the sky.
“That’s right! Send up a dragon beacon for every goddamned Shifter within a hundred miles. And you call me the idiot.”
She vanished completely again, but the van rocked once more and creaks groaned from the hood as the beast walked off the front end.
“Do not slap her, Brother. She’s not a child to be spanked.” Sister leaned against the corner of the van, on the other side, mostly out of sight. She glanced between him and Rysa inside, on the bed. Only Sister’s nose and her crossed arms were visible. “Are you done arguing with your Fate?”
“Leave us alone, Sister. No one needs your vitriol right now, least of all me.” Ladon turned his back to his sister, fully intending to walk away. She could stew all she wanted, as long as she did it somewhere else.
“Brother.” She stepped out from behind the van.
His lithe, tiny sister—a woman better at war, at battles, than he—stood next to the bumper of his vehicle in her tank top with her arms wrapped around her chest in exactly the same pose as Rysa. The same crunching inward. The same disquiet.
But it wasn’t the vulnerability washing off his sister that made Ladon reach for her. “What did you do?”
She’d cut off her hair. Her once-smooth ponytail must now lay somewhere on her cabin’s floor.
She held up her hand. “Don’t touch me. You’re still bloody. Why haven’t you showered? It’s disgusting.”
He balked and stepped back. “I haven’t had a chance.”
She snorted very much like her dragon. “Yes. I heard.”
“Why do you harass her, Sister?” He continued to keep his voice low. Any rest Rysa found would serve her well.
Sister watched Rysa through the door, her arms still as tight around her chest. “I won’t lose him, Brother.” She shuddered as if something crawled on her back. Her hand rose off her elbow.
She didn’t point or gesture. Her hand hovered in the air, small and fine-boned, a ghost of what they were—and what they’d become. “I won’t lose you, either. I’ve lost you more times than I can tolerate. After Abigail died. And again, when you crossed the ocean after us. We knew you had come to America. We sensed it, bu
t we couldn’t find you. How many decades did you and Brother-Dragon wander?”
“Four.” Forty years he and Dragon hunted in the northern regions of North America. They walked across Canada more times than he cared to remember.
They came in from the far north a few times, venturing back to civilization, as was expected of them. They visited Marcus. They found Andreas in San Francisco.
It had been Andreas who’d shepherded them to Sister and Sister-Dragon and their new home in the mountains of Wyoming.
“What will happen this time, Brother?”
Her face said she didn’t want an answer. She wanted her godling-hood back, her place in the universe where the normals and the Shifters and all the other groups left them alone because the two dragon-connected Progenitors commanded a force so powerful no one dared cross their paths.
Her place where no Shifter—no Fate—would dare touch her husband.
She built up the Legio Draconis after the Fates murdered her family. Andreas stood by her side, her Second as much as Ladon’s, and trained the most powerful men in the known world. For centuries, Rome herself feared their wrath. And for centuries after Rome fell, all of Europe feared the anger of Sister’s dragon.
But now they lived a small life in the mountains. They hid among normals, a Human and her Dragon.
And her royal Russian husband.
All these years, Ladon hadn’t realized what Derek meant to her. She loved him, yes. Deeply. But he wasn’t one of the special men. One she rumbled for.
The way Ladon rumbled for Rysa.
“You loved many women more than you loved Charlotte.” Sister’s hand moved, waving in a slow arc through the air in front of her. “Why is she different?”
Why? Beautiful Rysa loved him more than any other woman.
For the first time in his life, he felt like a man. “She makes me feel human.” A real, living, breathing man, one worthy of a woman’s warm touches. Of her beautiful smile and the brilliant acceptance she gave him with an open heart and a clear conscience. He felt alive.
“You are Human.” Sister sniffed and shook her head. She nodded backward. Sister-Dragon must be squatting on the gravel next to the van, silent. Still in vigil.
Yes, he was Human. They were both Human to their beasts’ Dragon, and they’d lived as such through the rise and fall of multiple civilizations. Human and Dragon, leaders of a Roman legion so deadly and elite the Emperors hid it from history. Warriors so terrifying the normals always shrank away. He and his sister were Human, but they were not human.
Flux of Skin (Fate Fire Shifter Dragon Book 2) Page 20
